Just A Harmless Party
by Elza
Summary: Snape and Hermione agree to go to a party, but neither of them knows just what they are getting themselves into.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: I do not own anything, except perhaps the plot which sort of came to me in a dream. The story disregards book seven ... how else could I write about poor Snape? That said, read and enjoy. I would appreciate a review too; I promise to send a reply to every single one, no matter when I get it.

It was August 31st, one day before the beginning of the new school term. Severus Snape was sitting in his office, immersed in thought. It had been two months since the final showdown with Voldemort, who had, to the delight of the whole wizarding world, finally been defeated once and for all by the Boy Who Lived, but Snape was somehow unable to find peace. Yes, he was now a war hero, he had killed several of his fellow Death Eaters during the battle and even saved Harry Potter's life at one point, thus proving that he had really been on the side of the Light all along, but his popularity had not increased much because of this. Not that it really bothered Snape – he did not care for people patting him on the back and then slandering him as soon as he turned around, he did not care for false friends. His only real friend had been Dumbledore, but Dumbledore was now dead, and it was he, Snape, who had killed him. True, it had happened more than a year ago, but it still came to haunt Snape in his dreams. He knew well enough that he had had no other choice at that time, it was either he or Dumbledore and Dumbledore had made it only too clear which one of them was to live on, but sometimes Snape wished that _he_ could have been the one to die. After all, what did he have to live for? The person he had cared about the most in the world was now snoring away in a portrait in Headmistress McGonagall's office, his mission to spy on Voldemort, the only way in which he could really make himself useful, was over. What did he have left? Only his position as a Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, returned to him by McGonagall after the war, but not even that seemed to satisfy him as much as it used to. With Voldemort defeated, the subject had inevitably lost its glamour. Sure there were still a few Death Eaters running about, but that was nothing the Ministry, inapt as it was, could not deal with in a year or two. And telling the students that sooner or later a new Dark wizard was bound to appear? That would be downright naïve. No student had ever feared anything that was not staring them right in the face ... perhaps that was why students seldom studied for exams in advance. In fact, the only exception he could remember was Miss Hermione Granger, but he had always thought that she was taking things a bit too far, and that, coming from him, was certainly saying something, seeing as he had been quite a know-it-all himself in his time.

As it was, however, Miss Granger now happened to be his new colleague, something Snape was still having trouble accepting. Not only could he no longer take points off her whenever he felt like it, but he was also rather disappointed by the actual subject she had chosen to teach. With her excellent N.E.W.T. results and so many teachers perishing in the war and thus leaving their positions vacant, she could have picked pretty much any subject that caught her fancy, but no, she had to go for the one subject Snape had never been particularly good at (and had therefore always scorned) – Transfiguration. What the girl saw in it he could not imagine, but the fact was that she was now McGonagall's pet and he, Snape, who had been teaching at Hogwarts longer than Miss Granger had been alive, was left feeling degraded and bearing a grudge against Miss Granger to last him at least two or three lifetimes.

Absorbed in his gloomy thoughts, he completely failed to notice an important looking barn owl landing on his windowsill, and it was only when the owl commenced a fierce attack on his window that he finally acknowledged its presence and went to let it in. There was a note tied to its leg. Untying it, Snape shooed the owl back out without bothering to give it a treat, and then went to sit back at his desk, unfolding the note along the way. He instantly recognized McGonagall's spidery handwriting.

_Severus,_ (the note read)

_Please come to my office tonight at 7 p.m., I have an important matter to discuss with you._

_Minerva McGonagall_

Snape frowned. What on earth was all this about? He had no idea what McGonagall wanted from him, but he had a strong hunch that he would not like it. And, as was usually the case with him, his hunch proved to be correct.

One minute to seven, he was just about to mount the spiral staircase leading to McGonagall's office when he was unexpectedly joined by a distinctly ruffled looking Miss Granger.

"Hello there, Professor," she wheezed as she attempted to smooth down her bushy brown hair. "Got a bit caught up by Peeves," she added, apparently mistaking Snape's disgusted expression for one of silent inquisition.

Snape's look of disgust became more pronounced. "What are you doing here?" he snarled in place of an answer.

"Well, I got a letter from McGonagall, asking me to come," said Miss Granger briskly, seemingly interpreting Snape's question as one of polite interest. "Said she wanted to discuss something with me."

"And she did not tell you what that something was?" demanded Snape. "I would have thought she keeps nothing from her precious little Transfiguration teacher," he added spitefully, doing his best to make the last two words sound like something to be ashamed of.

They had just reached the top of the spiral staircase at that moment, but Miss Granger made no attempt to step off it. Instead she turned to look Snape straight in the eye and, in a strongly determined voice, said, "Look, Professor, there's no need to act that way towards me. I can see now that it's impossible for the two of us to ever be friends, no matter how hard I try, but you could at least cut out the insults. I thought I would be all right just ignoring them, but now I've had enough. What have I ever done to you? It's not my fault McGonagall likes me; maybe she'd like you too if you just stopped acting so sour. I know you're probably still upset by Dumbledore's death, but I've lost Ron in the battle and Harry's had a close call too, they haven't even let me come and see him yet, but do you see me going around throwing insults at everybody I meet? No, you don't. Instead I'm trying to just get on with my life because that is how Ron would've-"

Her voice suddenly faltering, she quickly turned away from Snape and went to knock on McGonagall's door, inconspicuously wiping her eyes as she did so. Upon hearing a sharp "Enter," she gave a soft sniff, but by the time she marched into McGonagall's office she seemed her usual self-confident self again.

Snape followed her inside, perforce feeling slightly angry with himself. He really should try being a bit more civil towards Miss Granger, for she had obviously been through a lot too. The problem was that he just could not help insulting her every time they met, seeing as the mere sight of her made his blood boil. Insolent little Gryffindor, what was it that made her so popular among the other teachers? There was nothing special about her, after all, besides being an annoying know-it-all.

Know-it-all or not, however, Snape still had to obediently sit down next to her in front of McGonagall's table, while McGonagall herself surveyed them both thoughtfully from behind her spectacles, making them feel as though they were being X-rayed.

(_Must have taken that over from Dumbledore_, thought Snape).

"You must be wondering why I have summoned you here today," she began finally. "Well, I shall not beat about the bush – a party will be held this Saturday at Malfoy Manor to celebrate the long awaited downfall of the Dark Lord, as Mr Malfoy himself had put it. The Ministry, however, seems to believe that the party is only an excuse for all the Death Eaters who are still running free to get together and hatch a plot most probably aimed to cause damage to the Ministry. That is why the Minister for Magic has asked me for help, and that is why I am now turning to you. I would like the pair of you to attend the party and find out what this plot is. I cannot force you to, of course, but you are the Ministry's only hope."

"Really?" said Miss Granger doubtfully. "And why can't they put some of their own people onto the job? Why us? They haven't been exactly helpful in our battle against Voldemort, so what makes them think we will help them now?"

McGonagall sighed. "I'm afraid they have no other option, Hermione. The party can only be attended by those who have received a special invitation from Lucius Malfoy himself, and I don't think I need to say that he hasn't included any Ministry officials on his guest list. However, there _is_ one person among the invited whom we can actually trust, and that is Severus here. So-"

"So that's why he has to go, that's obvious, but where do I come in?" urged Miss Granger. "I'm sure Professor Snape would manage perfectly well on his own." She accompanied this statement by a dark look in his direction.

"No doubt he would," agreed McGonagall, looking slightly amused. "But the trouble is that Severus has always refused to attend Mr Malfoy's parties, and would therefore look highly suspicious were he to suddenly change this habit. If, however, he arrived at the party with a partner..."

"If I understand correctly, you are asking Miss Granger and myself to act as a couple." It was Snape who had spoken this time, looking as though he was having trouble believing his ears. "Well, in that case it should not come as a surprise when I tell you that you are asking for a miracle. I am sure you must have noticed that Miss Granger and I have never exactly ... warmed to each other, to put it mildly."

"Then why not use this opportunity to overcome your old differences and start afresh?" McGonagall pressed on. "Perhaps after spending an evening together you will see each other in a new light."

"I seriously doubt that," muttered Snape, throwing Miss Granger a disdainful look.

"So do I," retorted Miss Granger, endowing Snape with an equally unpleasant stare.

"Does that mean I cannot count on you, then?" inquired McGonagall, looking crestfallen. "Here you are, with a unique opportunity to catch those few remaining Death Eaters in the act and send them all to Azkaban for the rest of their lives, but what do you do? You throw this opportunity out of the window, all because of a silly grudge. You will let those Death Eaters run around and perhaps kill more innocent people before the Ministry finds another way of disposing of them. Really, I thought you two were old enough to have more sense than that. But obviously I was mistaken, so you may go, I'm sure you have some important work to do."

Having said that, she rose from her desk and made to see them to the door, but both Snape and Miss Granger remained seated.

"I ... I'll do it," said Miss Granger slowly, staring at her hands and looking ashamed of herself.

Snape, however, remained silent. How dare McGonagall bully him like that? Miss Granger may be obedient enough to raise to her bait without hesitation, but he, Snape, was not about to give in so easily. Of course he knew that McGonagall was, in essence, right, but she would have to work harder than that to win him over for her cause. Consequently, he took to staring sullenly at a smudge on the floor, waiting what she would come up with.

"Thank you, Hermione," he heard her voice say. "I knew I could rely on you." Then he felt her gaze shift to him as she asked, "And what about you, Severus? There is really no point in Hermione agreeing to take up the quest if you don't go with her, I'm sure you understand that."

Snape continued to stare determinedly at the floor.

"Don't you think there have been enough deaths already, Professor?" Miss Granger chimed in. "I'm sure that if Dumbledore were alive he would-"

"-he would tell you to stop being so unreasonably stubborn and simply do as you are asked," said a sudden, familiar voice that made Snape flinch and glance around in alarm.

"Headmaster?" he said uncertainly, his gaze finally landing on one of the portraits on the wall from which Albus Dumbledore was beaming down at him, his eyes twinkling merrily.

"Yes, Severus," he confirmed with an amused smile. "I do not often wake up, since I feel that I have a lot of sleep to catch up on from my long and adventurous life during which I rarely stayed in bed for as long as I would have liked, but this time I felt that Minerva could use a little help. Severus, I have always considered you a gentleman, but now I hear that you would let a lady go to a party unaccompanied? How am I to understand this? And unless I have been greatly misinformed, I may as well add that Lucius Malfoy usually serves his guests the best wine in the country. Would you really care to miss out on that?"

"I ... no," muttered Snape, looking resigned.

"Well, that's settled, then," said Dumbledore cheerfully. "Now, if you will excuse me, I shall once again pursue the temptation of peaceful slumber. Good night." And with that, his eyelids drooped and a moment or two later he already looked as though he had never even woken up. Snape, however, had a distinct feeling that no matter how fast asleep the former Headmaster appeared, the moment he put a toe out of line again all pretence of sleep would be gone and another carefully chosen remark would follow, one which Snape had absolutely no inclination to endure, being already shaken enough by Dumbledore's previous speech. It had been the first time since the portrait had spoken to him since the Headmaster's death and the experience was indisputably far from pleasant – it was as if all of Snape's nightmares suddenly came to haunt him into the light of day. That is why he apathetically agreed to do everything that McGonagall now asked of him, which basically meant that during the few days remaining until Saturday he and Miss Granger should learn how to act as a couple, or at least "try not to wince when the other touches you," to quote McGonagall's words after she noticed Snape's disgusted expression.

Finally leaving the Headmistress's office, Snape inevitably felt a desperate urge to run – run away from the Headmaster, now again sleeping so peacefully in his portrait, run away from Miss Granger, whose eyes he felt boring into his back, run away from his thoughts. If only he could hide away somewhere where there would be no one to disturb him, maybe he could push the memory of the past twenty minutes so deep into his subconsciousness that he would eventually make himself believe that it had never happened. It was not as if this would be the first time for him to do something like that – in fact, having done so many errands for the Dark Lord, he could hardly have lived with himself had he not mastered this ability to its finest points. Unfortunately, in this case he knew it would be useless even to try. He had never been able to fully forget the incident at the Astronomy Tower, owing to the fact that as long as he stayed at Hogwarts he would always be reminded of it wherever he turned, and as for Miss Granger, well, he would have to face her sooner or later anyway, though he fervently wished it would be the latter. Miss Granger, however, was of a different opinion.

"Um, Professor?" she addressed him meekly after they had dismounted the spiral staircase and Snape was just on the verge of making an inconspicuous disappearance to his office. "What are we going to do about our ... erm ... task? I know you're probably about as happy about it as I am, so maybe if we could just get it out of the way, we'd both sleep much more peacefully tonight."

Snape stopped dead in his tracks, then turned slowly around, his eyes narrowed.

"And what exactly is it that you propose we do, Miss Granger?" he snapped. "Practise holding hands?"

Miss Granger turned slightly pink. "Well, I don't know," she said uncertainly. "I suppose we could do something like that, couldn't we? To get used to it, I mean."

Snape gave her a murderous stare. "Do you really think me as immature as that, Miss Granger? Do you really think I would not be able to hold your hand without wincing?"

"Professor McGonagall seems to think so," said Miss Granger defiantly.

"What the Headmistress thinks is not relevant. What is your own opinion?"

Miss Granger shrugged. "Well, to tell the truth," she said slowly, looking as though she could not quite decide whether to continue or not, "I wouldn't put it past you," she finished quickly, as if hoping it would diminish the effect of her words.

Snape closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to compose himself. Insolent girl! How dare she speak to him like that! Him, who had managed to fool even the Dark Lord himself! And now this ... this _child_ was suggesting that he could have trouble with something as simple as holding somebody's hand? Well, he would show her yet!

"All right, Miss Granger," he said pleasantly. "Come to my office tomorrow morning. Eight o'clock. We shall see which one of us will be the one to wince."

Miss Granger looked slightly taken aback by this sudden change of attitude, but she quickly regained her composure and asked, "OK, but why tomorrow? Why don't we get it over and done with tonight? It's not even eight o'clock yet, so there's still time..."

"Good night, Miss Granger," said Snape uncompromisingly, and with a swirl of his black cloak he vanished, leaving Miss Granger standing in the middle of a deserted corridor, looking positively perplexed.


	2. Chapter 2

Despite acting the hero in front of Miss Granger, Snape spent a restless night. He would never admit it to anyone – he even had trouble admitting it to himself, now that he thought about it – but during the sleepless hours of early morning he realized that not only was he disgusted by the task that awaited him, but he was also somewhat scared of what was to come. True, he had been assigned much more demanding, not to mention gruesome missions by the Dark Lord in his time; he had killed, he had tortured, but although he could not quite explain it, what he had to do now seemed somehow more ... personal, as if he were going to let Miss Granger get closer to him than he had ever let anyone before. And this he did not like at all.

Still, at eight o'clock it was no longer possible to guess that something with Snape had ever been amiss, as when Miss Granger entered his office he already looked his usual surly self, and when he inquired about what exactly she had in mind that they should do he could pride himself in sounding just as cold and unpleasant as he always did.

Miss Granger, however, seemed to be prepared for such a reception. "Well, to start off with I suggest that you stop calling me Miss Granger," she began determinedly. "I think we would hardly pass off as a couple without calling each other by the first name, so from now on it's Hermione to you." She held out her hand, eyeing him expectantly.

Snape looked at the hand, not really happy with what Miss Granger was asking him to do, but eventually he decided that this was the smallest evil of all that was bound to come, and so he took the hand and gave it a brief shake. "Severus," he said reluctantly.

Miss Grang-, no, Hermione, gave a satisfied nod, as if ticking off an item on an invisible list, and then quickly went on. "OK, now if you could maybe hold my hand for a little longer? For example, we could pretend that we're arriving at the party, hand in hand. Could we try that?"

Normally Snape would have hesitated, perhaps even used an acid remark to comment the situation, but he remembered his boastful talk from the day before, and so he obediently took Hermione's small hand into his, being careful not to show even the smallest sign of displeasure. "Now what do you have to say, _Hermione_?" he sneered, unwittingly noticing that Hermione did not seem to mind holding his hand either. Interesting.

Hermione gave him a resigned smile. "All right, so I underestimated you," she said simply. "But just one thing – lovers usually don't hold hands like this," (she slipped her hand out of his) "but like this." (She snaked her fingers in between his).

For a fleeting moment, it occurred to Snape that holding hands in this fashion was actually quite pleasant, but he quickly shrugged the feeling off. What on earth was he thinking? Pleasant indeed!

Just to make sure, however, he quickly uncoiled his fingers from Hermione's and then, in his usual sardonic manner, said, "Thank you for enlightening me, Hermione. Now, is there anything else? Personally I would say we have done more than enough."

To his irritation, Hermione shook her head. "Oh no, that wouldn't do. If we want people to believe we are really in love, we have to practise how to look at each other the right way, too. After all, from what Professor McGonagall has said I understand that we are supposed to be a fresh item, so that means everybody will expect us to look all lovey-dovey..."

"But that is preposterous!" exclaimed Snape. "Don't you think you are taking this a bit too far, Miss Granger? I have taught at Hogwarts for long enough to know what kind of looks pass in between students, and I dare say that often this has been the reason for many a potion going wrong, but do _I_ look like a lovesick teenager to you? Even if I _were_ in love I would _never_ let that imbecilic expression cross my face, least of all in public."

"Hermione. Not Miss Granger," Hermione gently corrected him. "And how do you know how being in love would, or wouldn't, make you act? Have you ever been in love? I'm sorry, it's just that somehow, and please don't get offended by what I'm going to say, well, somehow it's hard to imagine you actually being ... well, capable of such feelings."

Snape regarded her for a while, but there was no hatred in his eyes. After all, the girl was right – he did his best to create the image of the mean Potions Master (well, former Potions Master now, anyway), hoping that if people were sufficiently afraid of him, none of them would even think of trying to get close to him.

"At least you are honest, Hermione," he said finally. "But as for my being in love, I would think that is hardly any business of yours. You simply have to take my word when I say that under no circumstances would I act like a hormonal teenager."

"All right," Hermione conceded. "But you could at least try looking at me in a slightly affectionate way. You could do that, couldn't you?"

"Well, I suppose so, yes," Snape admitted unwillingly, arranging his features into something that he hoped would pass off as what Hermione called affectionate.

Hermione let out an involuntary giggle. "I'm so sorry, Severus, I didn't mean to laugh," she apologized quickly. "But you rather looked as though you had a spasm."

Snape glared at her. "You show me, then," he spat.

"Sure, why not," shrugged Hermione, and she let her lips form into a slight smile, while her eyes filled with something very close to tenderness.

Although Snape had prepared himself for something like this, it still caught him by surprise when it actually came. Yes, he had seen such looks among his students, but no one had ever looked that way at _him_, and even though he knew the look was not real, it still caused his heart to give a sudden, painful throb. What was the matter with him? First the hand, now this ... he did not know what was going on, but it had to stop.

"All right, Miss Granger, I believe we have been productive enough for one day," he said decisively. "I still have some lesson preparations to finish for tomorrow's classes, so perhaps if we could continue this tomorrow after dinner? Or have you some other engagements?"

To his immense relief, his words caused the disquieting expression on Miss Granger's face to vanish almost instantly, only to be replaced by a slight frown. "Well, no, after dinner would be fine," she said slowly, "but I still can't really see why we have to stop now. It's not even nine o'clock yet; surely you don't need the whole day to prepare for lessons you know by heart anyway, being always so interested in the Dark Arts and all?"

"I rather think I should be the best judge of how much time I do or do not need for my lesson preparations, Miss Granger," said Snape coolly. "Until tomorrow, then. Eight o'clock, shall we say?"

"Eight o'clock is fine," said Miss Granger resignedly. "But do stop calling me Miss Granger, will you? Otherwise we can give the mission up straight away."

Snape merely scowled at her, and waited for the girl to resignedly leave the room. Then he sank into his chair, angrily hitting the table with his hand. He was furious with himself. How could he have let the Granger girl affect him so? She was right – he _was_ behaving like a hormonal teenager. After all, she had only looked at him, and what did he do? He got cold feet and sent her away. He, who had continually risked his life by spying on the Dark Lord, now could not find the courage to meet the affectionate gaze of an eighteen-year-old girl. Not to mention that the gaze was fake. Was that perhaps the problem? That he knew it could never be real? And did that mean that he wanted it to be real?

Getting this far, he disgustedly gave himself a huge mental slap. How could he have ever allowed his thoughts to stray this way? This was Miss Granger he was thinking of! The obnoxious know-it-all who had been driving him insane ever since she had first raised her annoying little hand. What did it matter that she had now turned into quite an attractive young woman? Physically she might have changed, but mentally it was still the same old Miss Granger, and if he could only manage to retain this thought in his mind, then hopefully it would help him keep all inappropriate ideas at bay.

Well, at least theoretically, he mused later on in the day, shutting his copy of _The Dark Arts – Dangerous and Deadly_ with an angry _snap_, as the image of a smiling Miss Granger once again inconspicuously crept into his mind. He decided that the time had come for some drastic measures. After all, wasn't he one of the best Occlumens around? He would simply empty his mind ... thus ... and consequently enjoy the comfort of complete oblivion, if only until the next evening.

Unfortunately, said evening arrived much too fast, and as the appointed hour drew nearer, Snape found himself growing visibly nervous. What was the matter with him? He could not remember feeling this way even when facing the Dark Lord, compared to which walking on explosives sounded like a pleasant pastime activity. If only he had never undertook this mission! He half wished he could go to McGonagall and say he was quitting, but he knew that would only mean a lot of nagging questions and inquisitive looks, to which, he could not help but admit, McGonagall would be perfectly entitled. No, he would have to face Miss Granger, and simply hope that if he scared her more than she scared him, he would somehow make it through their meeting unharmed.

Still, when – at exactly eight o'clock – the knock on the door came, Snape could not help but tense. "Enter," he said, trying to make his voice sound cold and distant as he anxiously directed his gaze towards the door. Almost immediately it opened and Miss Granger marched into the room.

"Hello, Severus," she greeted him, smiling brightly as she made her way over to his desk. "How was your day? Have you taught the first-years yet? Aren't they simply adorable?"

"I would hardly call them that, Miss- Hermione," said Snape tartly, willing himself to meet Hermione's gaze. "There may be one or two exceptions, but the rest of them are as thick-headed as a bunch of Flobberworms."

"Maybe you shouldn't be so demanding," countered Hermione. "I actually found most of them quite bright."

"By your questionable standards, perhaps," sneered Snape. "But why don't we cut the small talk and get down to business? Unlike you, I do not have time to spare."

As if by magic, Hermione's smile vanished. "If you plan to insult me, Severus, I might as well stop wasting your precious time altogether," she said heatedly. "If you're in a bad mood today, there's no need to take it out on me. So either you treat me with at least a bit of respect or we can go straight to Professor McGonagall and tell her we're giving the job up because _some_ people simply refuse to cooperate."

Snape threw her a withering look. "Very well, then," he said testily. "I shall try to _behave_."

Hermione sighed. "Yes, that's the best I can expect from you, I guess. So ... let's get started, shall we? I think you still owe me a proper affectionate look from yesterday."

Snape's response was one of his deadliest glares, but it was done merely to cover up his real feelings. If only Hermione knew what change he had undergone since yesterday, maybe she would not look so surprised when he eventually gave her a look diametrically different from the one he had produced then. He tried to convince himself that it was all just an act, similar to the one Hermione had put on, but deep inside he knew it was not quite so.

Hermione, meanwhile, looked at him with wonder. "Wow, that was ... quite good, Severus," she admitted with appreciation. "I would never have thought you had it in you."

"Of course you would not," said Snape curtly, quickly dropping the unusual arrangement of his facial features and replacing it with his customary sneer. "It is not an expression I generally wear for the public to see."

"Well, I don't think I'd have been half as scared of you in Potions if you did," smiled Hermione. "Anyway, that's that, so what now? I'd say trying out some gestures of tenderness would surely not go astray..."

Snape gave her a suspicious look. "Such as?"

Hermione shrugged. "Well, you know, caressing my hand, or my knee ... or the like," she finished quickly, unable to withstand the intensity of Snape's gaze.

"And what exactly do you propose we do?" inquired Snape, the tone of his voice not exactly inviting.

"Well," said Hermione uncertainly, but with a hint of determination, "we could pretend we're sitting down next to each other at the party, and then you could start caressing my hand, and ... and you could try using your imagination too, you know." She looked defiantly at Snape, as if daring him to protest.

He didn't. "Very well then," he said instead, though he did look as though the words caused him immense suffering. "Sit down." He gestured towards the one hard-backed chair in front of his desk, usually reserved for his victims awaiting their punishment. At the same time he stood up and walked over to said chair, eyeing Hermione coldly as she sat down. Then he knelt down next to her and took one of her hands in his, slowly running his thumb down her palm. Having done this several times, he brought the hand to his lips and kissed it softly. Then, as if what he had done had scared him, he quickly dropped the hand and gave Hermione a challenging look.

Hermione smiled at him. "That was better than I had hoped," she said encouragingly. "Let's try again, just this time try not to look like a martyr, will you? Could you possibly combine it with that affectionate look you showed me earlier? Then it'll be perfect."

Snape scowled but said nothing; he knew Hermione was right. He also knew he could not help but enjoy what he was doing, and the fact unsettled him horribly. He wished he could hide his feelings behind his regular mask of coldness, but instead he was being asked to do the exact opposite. He wondered whether even the Dark Lord himself had ever pushed him this far. He seriously doubted it.

Noticing Hermione eyeing him expectantly, he had to act, however, if he were not to lose his face. Sighing inwardly, he once again took Hermione's hand into his, but this time he looked straight into Hermione's eyes, putting as much passion into his gaze as he dared without losing control. Hermione returned the gaze and for a while their eyes remained locked, before Snape could bear it no longer and lowered his gaze. The affectionate expression stayed on his face as he ran his fingers down the back of Hermione's hand, however, caressing it as if it were a precious jewel. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Hermione close her eyes. Could she, too, be enjoying the experience? Or was she just acting?

Getting this far in his thoughts, Snape knew it was time to stop. What did he care if Hermione was enjoying herself or not? He disgustedly dropped her hand and stood up.

"Satisfied?" he asked curtly.

Hermione slowly opened her eyes and nodded. "Professor McGonagall herself would be proud of you. Really, one would almost think you meant it."

Snape flinched at the comment, but immediately collected himself. "Is that not what we were aiming at?" he asked, arranging his face into a self-satisfied smirk as he did so.

"Well, yes, of course it is," admitted Hermione. "It's just that ... oh, nothing. I suppose we've done all we could now, haven't we? So unless you've got any other ideas as to what we could try, I'd better get going, I guess."

Snape gave her a look of momentary surprise, as until then he had considered it his own domain to dictate the terms of their parting, but he did not consider the matter worthy of verbal comment, and so he simply said, "Very well. We shall meet on Saturday, then. I dare say the Headmistress will summon us both to her office for some last minute instructions."

Hermione stood up. "Yes, she probably will, won't she?" For a moment she hesitated, as if she wanted to say something more, but then she obviously thought better of it and merely said, "Well, good night," before heading for the door.

"Good night," said Snape thoughtfully, watching Hermione's retreating form until the door snapped shut behind her. Then he went to sit behind his desk. He suddenly felt cold and empty, as if all warmth had left the room with Hermione. Could he possibly miss her already? Nonsense! Where on earth did these blasphemous thoughts keep coming from? He was sure there was a perfectly logical explanation for how he was feeling. The room was simply cold, that was all. And since he was no longer distracted by Hermione, he got the opportunity to notice it. There, that was easier than he had thought.

Satisfied with his deductions, he decided to go over next day's lesson plans, but he soon found he could not concentrate. When, for about the tenth time, Hermione's face floated up in front of his eyes, he disgustedly shoved the plans away and rose. Maybe a walk would do him good. Deducting a few points from students out of bed had so far never failed to lighten his spirits, and so in pursuit of this favourite pastime of his he briskly left his office and headed towards the kitchens, where he was bound to catch somebody harassing the house-elves for some extra treats.

The corridors were dark and deserted at this hour, just as he liked it. He breathed in the cool night air, trying to clear his head, but instead the faint odour of something burning entered his nostrils. He inhaled again, but the smell did not go away. Instinctively, he drew out his wand, and then began to follow the scent, curious to find out its source. The unpleasant smell grew stronger as he turned the next corner, and that was when he also saw what (or rather _who_) was causing it. Peeves the poltergeist was floating in mid-air, holding a burning torch next to the portrait of a fat monk, who was cowering in the corner, presenting a certain part of his anatomy for all the world to see. Cackling like a lunatic, Peeves was systematically nearing the torch to the canvas until he singed it (while the monk emitted a high-pitched squeal) and then withdrawing it again, only to prepare for another attack.

Pressing his lips tightly together, Snape stepped out of the shadows. "Having a good time, I see?" he said silkily, drawing out his wand.

Peeves paused in his activities and flashed Snape a twisted smile. "Ah, your Professorship," he said with a mock bow. "What can old Peevesey do for you? Polish your shoes? Iron your robe? Wash your _hair_?" With the last word, Peeves let out a shriek of laughter and zoomed up towards the ceiling, where he blew a loud raspberry.

Snape, however, looked unconcerned by his insults. "Tsk, tsk, when will you ever learn some respect, Peeves?" he asked lazily. "I suppose we will have to teach you some manners, won't we?" He fingered his wand ostentatiously.

Peeves's smug smile vanished as he eyed the wand apprehensively. "Peeves meant no harm, your Professorship," he said smarmily. "A little joke it was, 'tis all."

Snape raised his eyebrows. "A joke, you say? Well, in that case I have a joke of my own to share with you. _Exuro_!"

A burst of orange flame shot out of Snape's wand, hitting Peeves directly in the backside. The poltergeist squealed like a wounded animal and flew through the ceiling like a bullet, leaving Snape standing in the deserted corridor with a smug smile on his face.

"Thank you, kind sir," said the previously tormented and now rescued monk, turning to Snape only after making sure that Peeves was definitely gone. With a hint of amusement, Snape noticed that his robes were still smoldering. "If ever you need anything, I will be at your-"

"Yes, yes, I shall bear it in mind," said Snape distractedly, for his attention was already directed elsewhere. He had heard a distant sound, a girl's giggle to be precise, and that could only mean one thing. A student out of bed.

Like a dog on the scent of a hare, he greedily set off toward the sound, which he guessed had come from behind the door of a nearby classroom. Making good use of his long legs he reached the door in a matter of seconds, and then paused to listen. Soon he was rewarded for his patience, for he heard it again, a girl's giggle. Satisfied, he threw the door open with a deafening _bang_.

There were two students in the room, a boy and a girl, whose position could only be described as compromising. For a fleeting moment, before they broke apart with a frightened jerk, Snape thought that the girl might be Hermione, for her hair looked very similar from behind, but when she turned to face him, her expression resembling that of a cornered rabbit, he realized that it must have been merely his recently awoken fantasy playing tricks on him. He quickly pushed the blasphemous image from his mind and concentrated on putting on his customary you-are-in-trouble expression.

"Fifty points from Hufflepuff," he said silkily, drawing sadistic pleasure from the paralyzed expressions on the couple's faces. "Each," he maliciously rubbed salt into the wound.

A rather oppressive silence filled the room, always a necessary part of such a confrontation. Snape knew his victims would need a couple of seconds to gather their wits, it was rarely otherwise. Why, he would gladly allow them the luxury of properly enjoying their state of shock; after all, that was what he lived for, the power he had over them, the fear he instilled in them. If his judgement were to be trusted, he would not see these two prowling the castle after dark for quite some time to come.

Curiously, it was the girl who recovered first, throwing Snape a furtive glance, muttering a barely audible "Yes, sir," and then scurrying out of the classroom faster than a mouse with a hungry cat on its heels. Her boyfriend followed suit soon after. Wearing a self-satisfied smirk, Snape trailed after them at a leisurely pace. As he had hoped, he now felt decidedly better. Perhaps he could even go and finish looking at those lesson plans without the image of a lovey-dovey looking Hermione permanently swimming in front of his eyes.

Hermione.

For no apparent reason, his mind wandered back to the girl in the classroom. How on earth could he have thought that it had been Hermione? Then again, what if it had? What then? How would he have reacted? Despite his better judgement, his imagination inadvertently created the corresponding image. Hermione kissing somebody else ... no, no, that was simply wrong, he could not allow that, for he himself wanted to be kissed... Another corresponding image, then, one that caused his heartbeat to accelerate rather rapidly and a strange tingling sensation to spread all the way to his fingertips...

He snapped out of his trance with a shudder, feeling absolutely disgusted with himself. He simply could not believe where his thoughts had just led him. And he had let them! He, Severus Snape, daydreaming like one of his teenage lovesick students! What was happening to him? Had his famous self-control left him for good? Were the Dark Lord still alive, he would not have lasted even two seconds had he allowed himself to slip in this horrible manner...

The thought rather unsettled him. Surely this was just a temporary phenomenon? Surely it would pass in a day or two? After all, he relied on his self-control! It was one of the few things in this world he _could_ rely on! Things he could not control had always scared him, for he did not know how to deal with them. Unfortunately, the situation with Hermione fitted this description perfectly. If he could stomp out any thoughts of her from his head, he gladly would, but for reasons he could not quite grasp he was hopelessly unable to do so (even Occlumency seemed to be failing him now!). Why, he could not even understand why he kept thinking about the girl in the first place! He did not like her, he did not care for her, so why, _why_ should he think about her all the time? What had she done to him? Had she bewitched him in some way? No, he did not think her capable of something so vile... But if not this, then what? Was it really just the way she had looked at him? Looked at him in a way that nobody had ever looked at him before? Could it be that, contrary to what he made the public believe (and contrary even to what he himself had gradually come to believe), he secretly craved for somebody to care for him? Even if it were to be the Granger girl? Was he really so desperate?

What? Had he really just thought that? He must be losing his mind. Of _course_ he did not need anybody meddling in his life. People were cruel, people knew only how to hurt and betray him, and so he had learned not to expect anything from them, not to trust them. And up till now, it had worked, he had got on perfectly well on his own, so he saw no reason why he should want to change that just because a girl had pretended to look at him with a bit of affection in her eyes. Therefore he would go to bed, take a Dreamless Sleep Potion, and, come morning, he would think about this foolishness no more.


	3. Chapter 3

In the course of the days leading up to the accursed party, Snape came to truly appreciate the meaning of the saying "better said than done". He tried not to think about the Granger girl during mealtimes, a task made rather difficult by the fact that she was sitting only a few seats away from him, casting him conspirational glances. He did his best not to visualize her face when he was grading papers in his office, but since it was in that very room that their two practice sessions had taken place, it felt as though she were still sitting across the table from him. And he _really_ made an effort to put her out of his mind during classes, when even a momentary lapse of concentration could bring on rather disastrous effects. Suffice to say that in those three days his students had managed to hit him with a stray spell no less than four times, which was exactly four times more than he had been hit in his entire life.

It was no wonder, then, that when Saturday evening finally arrived and he trudged through the corridors to the Entrance Hall where he was to meet Hermione, he rather felt as though he were walking towards the gallows. True, he had already met the girl in McGonagall's office earlier that day, but on that occasion he had tried to do his best to concentrate on the Headmistress's instructions (which had included a gift of Extendable Ears for each of them – a thoughtful move, Snape had to admit) rather than on the destructive element sitting next to him. Now, however, he would be fully exposed to the unwelcome effect that Hermione had on him (and that he, disgusted and terrified to simply accept it, still tried to pass off as temporary), magnified a hundred times by all the horrible affectionate gestures that their party act would inevitably involve. He tensed at the mere thought.

Unfortunately, no matter how slowly he tried to walk, he could not avoid the meeting forever, and so all too soon he arrived in the Entrance Hall, where he immediately noticed a lonely figure leaning against the huge frame of the castle doors. Preparing himself for the worst, he took a deep breath and then strode over to join her.

"Hi, Severus," she greeted him as soon as he was within hearing distance, flashing him a dazzling smile. Sadly, hearing distance inevitably also meant seeing distance, and Snape was rendered momentarily speechless by what he saw. Hermione was wearing a long, pale green dress, with flyaway sleeves and a U-shaped neckline that while not exactly low (not even by Snape's Victorian standards), it also could not be quite ignored. And the hair! Though usually bushy and therefore objectively not too attractive looking, now it was tied back in a neat bun, with two curly strands left to frame the girl's face, making her look like a princess. All in all, it took a lot of effort for Snape to stop simply staring at her in absolute awe, but finally he collected himself and gave her a curt nod, accompanied by a rather formal "Good evening, Hermione." Then he extended his arm and, with a muttered "Shall we?", led her through the castle doors and into the blinding sunset outside.

Seeing as it was impossible to Apparate within the Hogwarts grounds, they had to walk all the way to Hogsmeade before they could make the transfer to Malfoy Manor. That, however, meant they had a twenty minute walk ahead of them, and with a sudden rush of panic Snape realized he had no idea what to say. He had always despised all forms of small talk, simply preferring to stay silent when he had nothing to say, but at that moment the silence caused him to feel distinctly uncomfortable, as it made him only too aware of the little hand wrapped tightly around his arm, of the distant smell of vanilla perfume that penetrated his nostrils...

Glancing sideways at his tormentor, he wished she would rescue him and strike up a conversation herself, but she was merely chewing her lip and staring straight ahead of her. Despite the state he was in, Snape's observation talent had not quite deserted him, and so it hit him that if Hermione was chewing her lip, she must be nervous too, though for a different reason that he was, that was certain. Still, it made him feel a little better.

They had been walking for about ten minutes when Hermione, to Snape's relief, finally broke the oppressive silence. "Do you think we have any chance of finding something out?" she asked, looking thoughtful. "Everybody knows we're both on the side of the Light, so they're going to be extra careful about what they say around us, aren't they?"

Only too eager to seize an opportunity to talk, Snape nodded. "Well, naturally I do not expect them to attempt any scheming while we are present, that much is obvious," he replied slowly. "However, Lucius Malfoy has a very nice garden and, as we are to play our assigned part, a romantic stroll in it would surely be considered nothing but natural. Then, later, we can return to the house unseen, and perhaps use our Extendable Ears if the need arises."

"Yes, I suppose that could work out, but what if we get caught listening?" asked Hermione anxiously. "What if somebody opens the door unexpectedly or something like that?"

"With the Extendable Ears we would know if somebody were to decide to unexpectedly leave the room, we would hear their footsteps," said Snape, who had spent the few moments when his mind was not filled with Hermione thinking the whole matter through, and that is why he now had the answer ready at hand.

Hermione, however, still looked a little doubtful, though she did not press the point any further and instead, after a minute of thoughtful silence, asked, "How come Lucius Malfoy is still running free, anyway? They've got enough evidence against him, he's already been to Azkaban before, so why didn't they put him back there once Voldemort was out of the way?"

Snape smirked; it was obvious the girl, despite having been through more than most people her age, was not yet sufficiently acquainted with the ways of the world. "Money, Hermione," he explained patiently. "The Dark Lord may be gone, but corruption is still thriving. Lucius has always known who to turn to, what to give and what to promise. Consequently, certain people have turned a blind eye to his previous actions and condescendingly accepted his oath to become an honourable citizen after the Dark Lord had fallen."

"So would it help if we managed to incriminate him now? Or would he just pay his way out of it again?" asked Hermione, looking rather distressed. "Then this whole mission would be absolutely pointless! Why didn't Professor McGonagall tell me-"

"Ssh, calm yourself, Hermione," said Snape, not quite able to decide whether to sound imperative or soothing, and eventually ending up somewhere halfway. "Lucius has been able to escape justice once, that is true, but I strongly believe that the Minister and those around him are already beginning to regret their unwise decision. They are afraid of Lucius, and that is why they have sent us to find something that would give them a sufficient reason to finally lock him up."

"Well, all right, say we hear something incriminating at the party, but what then?" pressed Hermione. "We'll tell the Ministry, and once they come to ask Mr Malfoy about it, he'll just deny everything, end of story. So what's the point of even trying?" She sighed. "I don't like it, Severus. I feel used by the Ministry, and that's the last thing I wanted. I agreed to do the job because I thought it might help save some lives, but now I feel as though we're just making fools of ourselves."

Despite feeling somewhat sorry for the girl, Snape's customary reaction to such behaviour was a condescending look. "Now, Hermione, do you really think I would have agreed to this mission if that were the case?" he asked sarcastically, for he simply could not make himself change the tone, it was too ingrain. "I cannot be certain, of course, but I would believe the Minister smart enough to have a plan in case our quest is successful. Most likely he will let Lucius and his henchmen carry out their scheme, and then simply catch them red-handed. That, I think, should provide enough evidence to book all of them comfortable lifetime lodgings in Azkaban."

He was pleased to see that his words had caused Hermione to appear a little more cheerful, amused even. He also could not help but notice that she looked rather pretty when she smiled-

_Enough_, he scolded himself. If he were to spend the whole party allowing himself to be distracted by Hermione, he might as well go home now, shut himself up in his quarters and never come out again. What was the use of an infatuated spy? An infatuated teacher? An infatuated person, full stop? Useless, absolutely useless, good for nothing-

Fortunately for him, he was torn out of his gloomy thoughts by the very person who had started them, for Hermione had obviously finished mulling over his previous words, and as such said, "Well, I hope you're right. If it is as you say, then I guess we can make ourselves useful, after all. But if not..." She let the words hang in the air, obviously unable to think of a big enough threat.

"Then I shall personally throttle the Minister and make all his advisors scrub out the bedpans in the hospital wing for the rest of their lives," finished Snape maliciously.

Hermione let out a giggle. "Did you know you can be quite funny if you want to, Severus?" she said, still smiling.

Snape looked at her in shock. Nobody had ever told him anything of the kind before, so he was very much at a loss at how to react. Finally he settled for silence, which he thought was always safe, though he did allow a small half-smile to play in the corner of his lips. So Hermione thought he was funny. Interesting. He supposed he did have a dry and cynical sort of humour, but nobody besides Dumbledore had ever been able to appreciate it before. And now this girl...

Lost in a turmoil of contradictory feelings, he spent the remainder of their walk to Hogsmeade continuously forbidding himself to find pleasure in inventing various ways of making an imaginary Hermione smile, and failing miserably. He loathed himself.

Once in Hogsmeade, however, he had to chase all his feelings out of his head, seeing as even a momentary lack of concentration could lead to both him and Hermione getting splinched (since Hermione did not know where Malfoy Manor was, he would have to Apparate her as well), and that was certainly the last thing he wanted. Consequently, by a matter of sheer will he managed to – for once – completely displace the feel of Hermione's hand on his arm from his mind, not to mention the rest of the things that made her presence so distracting, and Disapparated.


	4. Chapter 4

The wrought-iron gates of the Malfoy Manor stood wide open upon Snape and Hermione's arrival, the hedge-lined drive behind them lit invitingly. An albino peacock was promenading itself along the drive, its tail spread out like a white fan. Another peacock hooted somewhere in the distance.

Hermione cast Snape an anxious look. "How are we going to enter the house?" she asked in a low voice. "Shouldn't we switch to holding hands?"

Snape shook his head. "Definitely not," he said decisively. "There is no need to overdo the acting. Arm in arm is fine for now, we may change it once we get to the garden in case somebody is watching us."

"Yes, I guess you're right," Hermione admitted. "Shall we go, then?"

Snape merely nodded, feeling Hermione's grip on his arm tighten as they set off down the drive.

"Aren't you nervous, Severus?" Hermione asked after a moment of walking in silence, absently watching the aforementioned peacock scuttle out of their way.

Snape considered the question. Had Hermione asked him a few minutes ago, he would have had to admit that he was (though, naturally, he would have kept silent as to the reason why). Now, however, he was quite calm. This was a mission, he was, once again, in his element. Having worked as a spy for so long, he could not afford to be nervous, otherwise he would never have survived for so long. So the final answer was no, and he told Hermione so.

She reacted with a slightly frustrated look. "How do you do it?" she asked. "How can you always be so calm?"

Snape sighed inwardly. If only she knew... "Years of practice," he said aloud.

Hermione's expression, he noted, was sombre, but since they were already nearing the brilliantly lit entrance of the house in front of them, she made no effort to continue the conversation any further.

There was a silver knocker in the shape of a snake (how very predictable!) dominating the front door, and Snape rapped it twice before the door was opened by an elderly, prim looking servant, whom, Snape knew, Lucius had employed after the loss Dobby.

"Good evening," the man greeted them, bowing his head slightly but otherwise maintaining an unnaturally straight-backed posture, very much as if he had swallowed a ruler. "Mr Malfoy is expecting you. This way, please."

Still arm in arm, Snape and Hermione followed him across a magnificent, marble-floored and portrait-lined hall to a door off to the left side. Passing through, they found themselves in a dark purple drawing room, lit by a huge crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling. The servant discreetly left the room, while Lucius Malfoy strode forward from the fireplace, where he had been entertaining about half a dozen men, who all stopped talking upon their arrival to gaze at them with unrestrained curiosity. Glancing over to another part of the room, Snape noticed Narcissa Malfoy and several women do the same.

"Severus, old friend! What a pleasure to welcome you here at last!" Lucius crooned as he virtually swooped down upon them, taking Snape's hand in his and shaking it warmly. "Been avoiding my parties like the plague for as long as I can remember, haven't you? But it seems Miss Granger here has changed your ways, after all!" He turned to Hermione and grasped her hand, too, while leaning toward her ear and continuing in a conspirational voice, "Personally I wouldn't have thought it possible, but obviously you know how to twist a man round your finger, don't you? An absolute delight to have you here, I'm sure!"

"Yes, yes, we're honoured," Narcissa chimed in, having silently glided to her husband's side. "Pray come and have a drink with us before we commence dinner." And before Hermione had a chance to respond she took her by the hand and steered her away towards the waiting group of expectant looking females.

Snape gazed after her with anxiety, which Lucius, however, must have interpreted as longing, for he put his hand on his shoulder and, with a dramatic sigh, said, "Ah, such devotion. Who would have thought you had it in you? Then again, there is no doubt that Miss Granger looks stunning. Nobody can deny your good taste, I'm sure."

"No longer prejudiced against Mudbloods, then?" asked Snape scathingly.

"Ah, come now, Severus, we all make mistakes," said Lucius condescendingly. "The Dark Lord had us all fooled, even you, there's no way you can deny that."

"No, but how very convenient it is that _you_ came to realize _your_ mistake only after the Dark Lord's fall. I cannot help but wonder if you would have dared to praise Mudbloods were the Dark Lord still alive."

"I see that you do not trust me," said Lucius, looking hurt. "You believe I am, at heart, still a supporter of the Dark Lord."

"And might I ask why I should think otherwise?" inquired Snape. He knew very well that ever since the Dark Lord had risen again, the only reason why Lucius had followed him was out of fear, but he was curious to hear what Lucius himself would have to say on the subject.

"I don't have to prove myself to you," said the blond man coldly. "But, as it happens, I consider you a friend, and will therefore be honest with you. I stopped supporting the Dark Lord long before his fall. I eventually realized he never meant to keep the promises of power he gave us; he only sought to use us, nothing more. Consequently, in the end I only followed him because were I to show my true colours, he would have taken revenge on me or, if worst came to worst, my family. Did I have a choice? I could not risk Draco getting hurt. Naturally, then, I was glad to see him gone, just like you were." He sighed. "But come, let's not keep my guests waiting. May I tempt you with some wine? Elf made, the finest I could get..."

And so Snape spent the following half an hour in conversation with a group of ex-Death Eaters, occasionally glancing over at Hermione, who, to his relief, seemed to be doing fine on her own, and all the while mulling over what Lucius had told him. All things considered, there was no reason why he should not believe him; after all, he had only confirmed what Snape had already known. The question was, now that the Dark Lord was out of the way, how far was Lucius willing to go to gain the power that had been denied to him for so long? Would he try to use the ex-Death Eaters like the Dark Lord had used him? Would he kill? He was quite certain that these were things Lucius was not about to disclose to him so readily, friends or not, simply because he considered Lucius smart enough to guess that he, given his close relationship with Dumbledore, would never approve of his schemes, no matter what they were.

After they had all tasted and sufficiently praised Lucius's wine, they moved into the dining room for dinner. Snape was seated on Lucius's right side as a guest of honour (which Lucius substantiated by the fact that since Snape never came to his parties, he had to welcome him like a king now that he had finally made an appearance), with Hermione next to him. As the servant brought the first delicatessen, conversation ensued, but although Snape tried his best to pick up any hint of a conspiration from what was being said, he was not surprised to discover that all talk was confined to strictly neutral topics. However, somewhere in the course of dessert he suddenly found Hermione's hand entwined with his, and though he appreciated the move (which, he noticed, Lucius did not miss), his concentration from that moment seemed to go rapidly downwards, especially as Hermione accompanied the action by a look of such intensity that it made Snape's heart stop.

At last, however, all bellies were filled to the point of bursting, and the party transferred into a brightly lit ball room for coffee and, in some cases, a game of bridge (wizarding version). Those who were not playing split up into small groups, which Snape considered a perfect opportunity for him and Hermione to excuse themselves. With a few whispered suggestive words to Lucius, he took Hermione by the arm and steered her out through one of the French windows into the lantern-lit garden outside. Once there, he promptly switched to holding hands as he ostentatiously led Hermione towards Lucius's yew maze, hoping they were being watched.

"Good timing," Hermione complimented him once they were out of earshot.

"Yes," said Snape laconically. "Now I suggest a slight change of plan. Going back into the house could prove much too risky, for we do not know where the servant is, but if we succeed in reaching the outer wall, we could sneak along it and then listen at the window. If they have not closed it, we might not even need our Extendable Ears."

"True enough," agreed Hermione. "In fact, I was just thinking the same thing. Shall we go back now, then?"

"No reason to wait, I think," said Snape. "Keep holding my hand, for the unlikely case that we meet someone, and we shall head for that corner of the house-" (he pointed) "-where we cannot be seen from any window, but from where we can best reach the ball room."

They set off, carefully maintaining the image of two lovers on an evening stroll through the garden, but at the same time staying alert to any potential threats. If anybody saw them, they would either have to go back to the house, or change direction and try and sneak back later. Best not to be seen at all, then.

Glancing around, Snape assessed their surroundings. The garden was mostly immersed in darkness, save for the occasional lantern or two, which caused the bushes to cast eerie shadows and create a rather ominous atmosphere. The air was stuffy and still; perhaps a storm was on the way. An unnatural silence ruled the grounds, broken only by a cricket somewhere close by. Hermione's grip was tight and sweaty, and Snape wondered whether she was afraid. Being completely composed himself, he wished he could transfer some of his calmness to her, but he did not know how to. Finally he settled for silence, as usual.

Thus they slowly reached their destination, meeting nobody and sensing nothing out of the ordinary. The only task that remained now was to get to the window. Letting go of each other's hands, which now seemed rather unnecessary, considering what they were about to do, they began to carefully edge along the wall. Flat against the cold stone, shuffling ever closer, they eventually caught the sound of voices, just a low murmur at first, but becoming steadily louder the nearer they got. Obviously, the window had been left open, then.

They came to a halt just where the wall ended and the window began, and Snape carefully checked their surroundings again for any sign of movement. He was quite certain that nobody had come out into the garden during their brief absence; after all, they had never let the house out of their sight, but the years he had spent as a spy had taught him that it definitely never hurt to double check. The garden was quiet and empty, however, which meant that he could safely turn his attention to the conversation inside.

"Yes, I'm due in March," a woman was just saying. "Reginald is so excited! We've just begun furnishing the nursery-"

Uninteresting. He strained his ears until he caught a different conversation.

"No, you're certainly not going to get another glass of wine!" a high-pitched female voice was yelling. "I'm not going to Apparate you home like I did last time. If you want something to drink, get yourself a glass of water-"

Slightly more interesting, but far from what he was looking for. Another one, then.

"How could you have made such a stupid mistake, Agnes?" an angry male voice was saying. "Really, a jack of spades. You should have played the ace, that way we would've-"

Definitely _not_. He delved into the muddle of voices again, until he was able to discern one that sounded very much like Narcissa's.

"-saw the way you were looking at her all through dinner. You should be ashamed of yourself! A Mudblood, no less!"

"Mudblood or not, you cannot deny that she has a certain grace about her." Lucius.

"I don't care. I know our marriage isn't exactly perfect, but is it too much to ask not to embarrass us when we have guests, at least?"

"Guests I should be entertaining, I believe. But instead, here I am, having this pointless discussion-"

Snape would have liked to hear more, but at that moment there came a rustle from behind one of the bushes, and before he could even look that way something flung itself at him and he found his lips captured by those of Hermione Granger.

His first instinct was to push her roughly away, but a tiny rational part of his brain told him that whatever had made that rustling sound was probably watching them now, and that seeing them kissing was by far and large a better option than finding them listening at the window. What was more, another, infinitely bigger, part of his brain was completely flooded by a tide of signals from every part of his body, all of them urging him not to stop, and promising to give him hell if he did. God, he had never imagined it was possible to feel like this, it was just too good to be true, he could not get enough of it, he wanted more, more, _more_, and so, without really knowing what he was doing, he deepened the kiss, wanting to taste every inch of Hermione's mouth, wanting to swallow her whole, wanting to...

And then, after what felt like seconds and hours at the same time, it was all over; Hermione, pink and breathless, had pulled away. Snape, feeling dizzy and shaky, looked around him as if he was seeing the world for the first time. Only very slowly did reality start coming back to him, and it was then that he remembered why Hermione had pulled him into the whole thing in the first place. Willing his eyes to focus, he carefully glanced sideways towards the bush from which the sound had come before ... and saw one of Lucius's albino peacocks gazing at them with unfeigned curiosity, its head cocked to one side as if wondering what to make of them. Looking back at Hermione, he could tell from her stunned expression that she had just seen the same thing.

"I ... I'm so sorry," she stammered, her cheeks burning red. "I thought ... I thought somebody was coming, and I didn't want them to see us, and the best thing I thought of was..." Her voice trailed away and she lowered her gaze.

For once in his life, Snape was lost for words. He wanted to tell Hermione that she did not need to apologize, that she had reacted well. He wanted to tell her that he had welcomed the kiss, that he would repeat it here and now if she only asked. He wanted to tell her to get out of his life, to leave him alone, to stop turning his world upside down. But the words just would not come, so in the end he merely turned away and tried to continue spying on the people inside the house, like he had done before the unexpected incident. However, he soon found that he simply could not concentrate. None of the conversations made sense to him anymore, all he could think about was the kiss. It was as if a video got stuck in his mind, playing one scene over and over again. It was driving him insane, and so finally he beckoned Hermione to follow him back inside, reasoning that there was nothing more to be heard. The girl readily obliged, obedient as a lamb. Snape would have given anything to know what she was thinking.

They had barely set foot in the house when Lucius got hold of them once again. "Ah, Severus, Hermione, back at last," he purred. He had seized the first chance to call Hermione by her first name, and Snape could see he was relishing it. "I was already beginning to wonder whether you meant to stay out all night. You lovers," (he wiggled his finger at them in a friendly way) "how utterly unsociable you can be. But come now, you must have a game of bridge with us. And to make it more interesting, I shall play with Hermione and Agnes here can play with Severus."

Truth be told, Snape was glad of this arrangement. He was well aware that Lucius was only using it as an excuse to spend some time in Hermione's close presence, but after what had happened in the garden he doubted that being near her himself would be such a good idea. Moreover, despite playing the perfect couple here, who was he to lay claim to her? If _she_ did not mind Lucius's attentions, then he would certainly not interject. Consequently, the next hour or so was spent by the most horrible game of cards he had ever played, where Lucius praised Hermione for almost every card she laid on the table, Agnes, whose husband had obviously given up on her (and for good reason, Snape thought) and went to get himself a drink or five, kept talking to the moving pictures on the cards, and he himself was spending all his energy on trying to banish the scene from the garden from his mind, and finding it no longer surprising when he failed. Thus it was no wonder that he and Agnes lost the game horribly, which Lucius could not resist depicting in great detail to anyone who would listen for the rest of the evening.

A long way past midnight the party finally started breaking up, for which Snape was eternally grateful. He knew very well why he had always excused himself from these kinds of events; they bored him to death. He never had anything to say, and the gossip that others considered to be intelligent conversation irritated him. As a result, there was absolutely nothing to keep his mind from wandering, which, unfortunately, turned out to be the very last thing he wanted to do today. He wished he could get drunk, like many of the others had done, but he was painfully aware of the fact that if he was going to walk Hermione back to Hogwarts, he would have to be completely in control of himself, otherwise he could say or do something he would regret for the rest of his days. And so he suffered quietly (something he had mastered quite well in the course of his life), until, at last, he and Hermione were standing on the doorstep and Narcissa was bidding them farewell, while Lucius, swaying slightly in light of all the wine he had consumed, was unashamedly drinking Hermione in, as if trying to imprint her image into his memory. Snape felt like hexing him.

A moment later the formalities were over, however, and when Snape found himself alone with Hermione, he almost wished that Lucius was still there. Still, there was nothing he could do but offer Hermione his arm (doing his best to ignore the tingle that her touch sent through his entire body), and then hope that the journey back to Hogwarts would pass quickly enough.

Just like on the way there, the first five minutes of their walk from Hogsmeade (where they had Apparated separately this time) went by in silence. Snape had even less ideas about what to say than before, not to mention that every topic he thought of seemed to him to betray how he felt. He was therefore hugely relieved when it was – once again – Hermione who broke the ice.

"So ... what do you think?" she asked timidly. "Of Lucius and the others, I mean? Are they plotting anything? Personally I didn't hear anything out of the ordinary, but I'm not as experienced as you are, so I might've missed something important."

"No, I believe you are right," said Snape. "From what I have seen, it was nothing more than a harmless party, just like Lucius had claimed it would be. The Minister was being unnecessarily paranoid."

"That's the feeling I got, too," agreed Hermione. "To me it was just a bunch of old friends, gathered to have a drink, a chat, and the occasional game of cards."

"Indeed," said Snape, and since neither of them had anything more to add to the subject, silence settled over them once again. It was a long while before Hermione broke it for the second time.

"I ... I'm really sorry about the kiss, you know," she peeped, and from her troubled tone Snape got the feeling that this had been weighing on her mind much more than Lucius's non-existent plotting. "I know I should've waited a bit, but I was scared that whatever was in that bush would see us before we saw it, and then we would've really been in trouble."

"You did what had to be done," said Snape curtly, not trusting himself to say more. Not only did he once again have to suppress the urge to say all of the things he had not said when Hermione had apologized for the first time right there in the garden, but he also could not help feeling slightly hurt by the fact that the girl so openly regretted the kiss, whereas he felt the exact opposite.

Hermione, however, interpreted his unwillingness to elaborate somewhat differently. "You're angry with me, aren't you?" she said unhappily.

Snape shook his head. "No." He did not know what else to say.

"Really?" Hermione looked hopeful and doubtful at the same time.

"Really," Snape confirmed, hoping it would be enough to satisfy her. He really wished he could say more, but each phrase he thought of sounded even worse than the last. Still, he reasoned, it was much better if Hermione believed him to be angry with her than if she guessed what he really felt.

To his relief, however, the girl finally seemed to take his answer for a fact. "I'm glad of that," she smiled. "I wouldn't want us to part on bad terms. In fact, I was hoping we could become friends of sorts. I know we used to hate each other, but for my part I can say that you really aren't so bad once a person gets to know you a bit better."

Snape was thunderstruck. "Well, thank you, I suppose," he said finally. "Perhaps you aren't as bad a know-it-all as I have always considered you to be, either."

Hermione beamed at him. "Friends it is, then."

"If you insist," said Snape with a half-smile of his own, as he turned this unexpected progress over in his mind. Watching that radiant face turned towards him, he suddenly felt strangely elated. True, his feelings towards the girl were definitely far more than friendly, he could no longer deny that to himself now, but since he was dead certain that he could never ever hope for anything more, he would have to be content with what she was offering him. And, if he had to speak for this moment, he was.


	5. Chapter 5

Upon their return to Hogwarts, Snape and Hermione headed straight to McGonagall's office to make a report on the outcome of their mission. The Headmistress, who had stayed up to await their return in case there was a necessity to act quickly, seemed pleased with their findings, thanking them heartily and promising to promptly inform the Minister that he no longer needed to worry about Lucius trying to bring him down. With nothing else to discuss, it was not long before Snape and Hermione were standing at the foot of the spiral staircase again, and that was when Snape's elation disappeared as suddenly as it had come. Instead, he felt an odd sense of loss, as if a heavy weight was pressing in on his chest. He did not understand it; was it the prospect of parting from Hermione that was causing him to feel this way? His logic reasoned that he would see her again at breakfast, which, given the lateness of the hour, was now not so far off, but the almost physical pain in his chest seemed to defy all logic, just as everything concerning Hermione did. As there was absolutely nothing he could do, however, he simply wished her good night, and then watched with dejection as she walked away from him, her lovely green dress flying behind her.

Bad as he felt at that moment, it got steadily worse as the days went by. In vain did he try to recall the happiness he had felt after Hermione had offered him her friendship, in vain did he try to convince himself that having her as a friend was enough to keep him content. No, whatever he tried to beguile himself with, the cruel reality was that whenever he was sitting next to her at mealtimes, he wanted to hold her hand, whenever he met her in the corridor, he wanted to greet her with a kiss, whenever they found themselves sharing a free period in the staffroom, he wanted to sit her on his lap and stroke her hair until she fell asleep in his arms. True, there were moments when, using every ounce of his self-control, he was able to subdue these urges so that he barely noticed them, but often it was enough for Hermione to simply smile at him, or even look at him a little longer than he could bear, and all his efforts were instantly shattered to pieces. Most of the time, however, the mere sight of the girl filled him with blackness and despair, and a longing so intense it hurt. And so it went on, day after day, unceasing and unchanging, until at last he was unable to delude himself any longer, until at last he had to admit to himself what he had known ever since the night of the party but what he had been too afraid to name – he was, for the first time in his life, utterly and hopelessly in love.

The revelation unnerved him greatly. Why did this have to happen to him, of all people? He did not ask for it, he did not want it; all he longed for was to be left in peace. Until now, he had been relatively happy – well, happy was perhaps not the right word, he had never been happy, but he had felt, well, secure behind his protective walls, which had unfailingly prevented anyone from getting too close to him. But then Hermione had come along and torn those walls down, and he suddenly felt as if he could no longer face the world alone, as if he were missing a piece of himself, as if he _needed_ something. Or, rather, someone. He had never known loneliness before, he had always prided himself in getting along perfectly well on his own, but now his rooms felt desolately empty in the evenings, and his bed much too big. If he thought he would find solace in slumber, he was greatly mistaken. Every night he was haunted by dreams that rarely featured anyone but a certain bushy-haired girl, and he often woke up feeling gloomy and depressed when he realized that the dream he had just had would forever stay just that – a dream.

It was one night about two months after the party when he awoke with a start from yet another one of these dreams, a particularly vivid one this time, which ultimately left him feeling cold and lonely, and with his heart aching as if somebody had stepped on it with a hobnailed boot. It was clear he would never fall asleep again, and so, not wishing to overdo it with sleeping potions, which he had been consuming in more than liberal amounts in the past couple of months, he decided that perhaps a walk through the castle might do him some good. Ever since the kissing couple had reminded him of Hermione he had unwittingly refrained from his former favourite pastime activity of catching students out of bed; instead he hoped that if he climbed all the way up to the Astronomy Tower, he would be so tired that even his mind would not have the strength to torture him for once. And so he threw his cloak over his nightshirt, and resolutely headed off towards the door.

A cool draught brushed his face as he entered the deserted corridor, making him suppress a shiver, despite the cloak around his shoulders. However, he stubbornly convinced himself that the way up to the Tower would warm him up, on the outside as well as on the inside, and so he set off down the corridor with only a momentary hesitation.

The castle was dark and completely silent. During his numerous night-time prowlings Snape's eyes had got so accustomed to the dark that he no longer needed to light his wand, which, of course, had proved invaluable in his hunt for misbehaving students, who had no idea of his approach until they heard his silky voice in their ears. Snape smirked at the memory. Those were good times, long before Hermione had come along and made his life living hell. He wondered whether even serving the Dark Lord had been so taxing on his mental state. Somehow he doubted it.

Gloomily contemplating his even gloomier prospects, he slowly made his way up the endless flights of stairs, and then, at last, down the seventh floor corridor towards the winding staircase leading to the Astronomy Tower. So absorbed was he in his thoughts that he did not notice a lonesome figure emerging from behind a corner until he virtually bumped into her. His heart missed a beat when he, to his shock, saw that it was the very person whom he had been thinking about, the bane of his existence ... Hermione.

"Severus!" she cried out in surprise, looking every bit as stunned as he was. "What are you doing here?"

Snape quickly collected himself. "I could ask you the same question," he said, his voice steady and cold – the only way he knew to cover his real state of mind.

"I ... couldn't sleep," Hermione admitted, looking rather downcast. "I was just on my way to the kitchens, hoping to ask the house-elves for some hot cocoa."

"I see," said Snape, then, on a sudden impulse, added, "Might I join you?" He could not help it, he could not resist, it was stronger than he was.

"Sure," smiled Hermione. "But weren't you heading in the opposite direction?"

"I was not aiming for a particular destination," Snape lied smoothly. "The kitchens are as good a place to go as any other."

Even in the dark, Snape could see the confusion on Hermione's face. "Oh," she said. "Why are you out here in the middle of the night, then?"

Now that he had calmed down somewhat, Snape was able to answer the question with relative ease. "Someone has to ensure that there are no students plotting mischief, do they not?" he challenged.

"True," nodded Hermione. "Silly of me, I've forgotten I was dealing with the nightmare of all wrongdoers."

Snape chuckled. This was just one of the many things he could not help but love about Hermione, the light tone she often took with him, which, for reasons unknown, gave him the impression that she was dancing with him.

"Indeed," he returned. "Come to think of it, one could even assume that you are up to no good yourself, roaming the corridors at night with no light to give you away. Aren't you afraid of injuring yourself?"

Hermione shook her head. "No. I had lots of practice during my night-time wanderings with Harry, so that now I can see perfectly well even when it's almost completely dark."

"Yes, I should have known," said Snape, and when Hermione made no attempt to reply, he gestured towards the staircase leading towards the lower floors. "Shall we go, then?" he suggested. "I would not want to keep you from your cocoa."

Hermione assented, and so they set off down the dark corridor together, chatting pleasantly as they went. It seemed a much quicker journey than when Snape underwent it alone only a few minutes earlier, and so they found themselves in the corridor leading to the kitchens sooner than they had had time to say 'cocoa'. It was then that Snape remembered the reason why they were going there in the first place, and his naturally curious nature made him start to wonder as to the reason of Hermione's insomnia. Such a young girl, what could possibly be bothering her to the point of violating her sleep? She should be sleeping like a log, for all he knew. Finally, his curiosity got the better of him and he decided to ask the girl directly.

To his surprise, Hermione shot him a strange look, before, at last, answering with an unconvincing "It's nothing."

Snape frowned. It was not like Hermione to be secretive; this had to be something serious. He fixed her with a scrutinizing gaze. "If you confide in me, I might be able to assist you," he reasoned.

Hermione, however, determinedly shook her head. "No. You can't help me."

Perceiving her dejected tone, Snape decided it was time to act. He stopped, and, in the light of one of the few torches that were kept burning during the night to illuminate the corridor that led not only to the kitchens, but also to the Hufflepuff common room, he looked straight into Hermione's eyes, which, he noticed with concern, were glistening with unshed tears.

"Hermione, listen to me," he said, trying to sound firm and kind at the same time. "Some time ago, you have, I believe, asked me to be your friend, and so that is what I have become. I have not had many friends in my life, but I do know this – if something goes wrong, who else should one turn to but a friend? Even if I cannot help you, I can hear you out, at the very least. So do tell me, what is ailing you?"

A tear rolled down Hermione's cheek. "I can't!" she wailed, wiping the tear away with an angry gesture. "Exactly because you _are_ a friend, and if I told you, I would lose you. And I don't want that."

Snape did a few mental calculations. "Does the matter concern me, then?" he asked finally.

Hermione merely pursed her lips together and remained silent.

"I take that as a 'yes', then."

Another tear trickled down Hermione's cheek. Snape's heart ached at the sight; he wanted to take Hermione in his arms and comfort her, but he knew he could not. Instead he said, "Hermione, whatever it is that you have to tell me, I swear it will not affect our friendship. Believe me, I could do nothing to hurt you."

Hermione looked at him through tear-filled eyes, as if trying to figure out whether to believe him or not. It was a full minute before she finally spoke. "All right, I will tell you," she said hoarsely. "Heaven knows I can't bear the suspense any longer; maybe it will be better to know once and for all." She sighed, looking as though she was bracing herself for the worst. "It's the kiss that's done it," she blurted out. "I can't stop thinking about it. I can't stop thinking about _you_. You're in my mind, all the time, you're in my dreams. That's why I couldn't sleep tonight, and many other nights, too. Oh, Severus, I love you so." She let out a small sob. "Well, now you know. I guess you'll hate me now, no matter what you've just said. So go on, yell at me, insult me, tell me to get out of your sight. I've said all I wanted to."

She finished, and was now gazing at Snape with a defiant look in her eyes. Snape stared back at her, her words ringing in his ears but somehow not registering. Surely he must have misheard her? Surely he had only imagined the words he had so been longing to hear?

But no, she was there, quite solid, still watching him, still waiting. He had to decide. What should he tell her? It was what he had been dreaming of; surely there was nothing to think about? Strangely, though, now that his dream was within his reach, he was afraid to seize it. Yes, he had trusted Hermione with his friendship, but did he dare take the next step? His general mistrust of people, his belief that they strove for nothing but to hurt him, all of this was too ingrained in his mind for him to simply ignore it. Hermione might think herself in love with him now, that he could believe, but how long would it be before she cast him aside like an old toy, just as people had done to him many times before? Could he ever go on living after that? Could he?

On the other hand, if he let Hermione go now, and she eventually found somebody else, would he be able to bear the sight of the two of them, together? The memory of Lucius Malfoy, the lecherous way he had looked at her, was still fresh in his mind, and he could vividly recall what he had felt then. Would he be able to deal with experiencing the same feeling (or worse) every day, for the rest of his life? No. He was quite sure he would rather be dead than have that.

Was that it, then? Had he decided? It was so unlike him to act upon his feelings instead of going by reason, but if the past few months had taught him anything, it was to realize that feelings had a place in life, too. It was rather strange for him to admit it, but he knew now that there were some situations where cold logic simply did not suffice. As such, there was only one possible option for him to consider. He knew very well that he might come to regret it one day, but not more than he would regret letting his chance slip away. Not so long ago he had contemplated the current meaning of his life ... well, he guessed he had found it now.

Getting this far in his thoughts, he was finally ready to react to Hermione's outburst. He was not even surprised at how easily his expression softened, how naturally his eyes filled with the love he had been trying to subdue for so long, as he said, in a voice that was completely steady and yet overflowing with emotion, "I shall not yell at you, Hermione, and I shall certainly not send you away. Instead, let us continue where we left off at the party, only this time, it shall be without the pretence."

And when Hermione looked at him half uncomprehendingly, half disbelievingly, he decided to clarify his words by sweeping her into a much more passionate version of the kiss they had shared at the party, and if until that moment he still had any doubts about the rightness of his decision, they were soon dispersed in an influx of absolute bliss.

When, at last, he and Hermione broke apart, they were both smiling, and such was their absorption with each other that when they finally left their place in the corridor, looking slightly dazed and holding hands, with Hermione's cocoa long forgotten, they did not even notice one of the figures in the portraits lining the walls stealthily slide out of its frame. And so it came about that this figure, which just happened to be the monk whose dignity Snape had saved a couple of months previously, soon managed to inform all the other portraits in the castle about the outcome of that unexpected midnight rendezvous, so that when Headmistress McGonagall woke up the next morning, it was enough for her to glance at the beaming Dumbledore on her study wall to know exactly what had happened. She could not resist giving him a conspirational wink, before going about her daily business with a new spring in her step, all the while wondering who else in the castle was single.


End file.
